Chapter 22 #2
“I want you to stay. With me. Not as a caretaker but as…kigara.” Her hands and lips tingled to see how the word affected him, his broad shoulders trembling. “I want to learn what it means to be kigara to you. I want to stay with you, too. But you have to want that, still.”
A frown touched his brow, and Imogen sympathized—she’d almost gotten lost in her own speech, too.
“Why wouldn’t I want that?” he asked.
Imogen shrugged helplessly. “You’ve seemed…distant these past weeks. I know taking care of everything was a burden. I’m better now, I can help and carry my own weight. You don’t have to worry so much.”
Cursing under his breath, Balar gathered her hands in his, squeezing them tight. “Forgive me, urisá, I didn’t mean to confuse or trouble you. You’re not a burden. Taking care of you has been my honor.”
“But—”
He shook his maned head. “Please, listen. I admit, I’ve been troubled. I’ve struggled with this anger that I couldn’t put into words.”
Swallowing hard, Imogen laid a hand against his warm chest. Beneath her palm, she could feel how his heart thudded.
“You can tell me anything.”
“It’s difficult to say, for I haven’t wanted to upset you.
But…” He sighed. “Seeing you hurt terrified me. So did the thought that if I hadn’t come when I did, you might have suffered more.
Even…” Balar shook his head again, as if shaking away the thought.
“In my fear, an anger grew alongside it. At you. That you’d gotten hurt, that you’d isolated yourself so. That you’d sent me away.”
“Balar, I…”
“No, urisá, don’t worry or apologize. It’s my anger and burden to bear. It’s not rational or fair. You’ve lived your life and made your decisions. I respect that. It’s just…the thought of losing you, of you suffering here alone—it eats at me.”
Oh. Imogen pressed her hand more firmly into his chest. He’d been afraid for her.
“But you found me. You came back,” she whispered.
“Of course, I did. You are kigara. Nothing will change that.”
“I’m sorry for how I reacted that morning. I haven’t been…everything is so new. I haven’t been touched like that before, and it…” Imogen’s blush could’ve melted snow with its heat. “I didn’t know what to do. I was embarrassed.”
“Then we will go at your pace, urisá. As much or little as you want. Just don’t send me away again. Let me stay by your side.”
“Only if I get to stay by yours.”
A broad smile broke across his face. Chuckling, he dropped his head to rest his forehead against hers. “Ah, kigara, I fear we’re being silly about each other.”
“Maybe a little,” she admitted with a giggle. “I think we’re saying the same thing.”
“Indeed. But perhaps we should be sure. I wouldn’t want any more misunderstandings.” Cradling her face in his paws, he held her still as he gently kissed her. A small touch, not as romantic as it was comforting. A greeting almost, a renewal. “I say that I love you, Imogen. My goddess.”
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. How could any woman, human or otherwise, withstand that?
“I love you, too, Balar,” she whispered. “So, so much.”
His lips found hers again, this kiss every bit as romantic as it was fervent.
Heat suffused her body, and she wondered if they steamed together in the cold air.
His arms came round her, and Imogen knew by instinct to throw her own around his neck.
In the next moment, he’d lifted her off her feet, changing the angle of their kiss.
She yelped against his lips when he began to spin. Balar filled the clearing with his great, joyous laugh as he spun them round and round.
Shadow barked and the goats bleated merrily. Even Chestnut joined in, braying happily. Baa! Woof! Hee-honk!
Lifting her even higher under the arms, Balar declared for all the forest, all the world, “Imogen, my kigara, I love you!”
Later that evening, after all the chores had been done, the dishes washed, and the fire stoked, they sat together on the sofa, indulging in more kisses.
“To make up for all those we could’ve had,” Balar quipped before seeking a few more.
There was hardly any room for Imogen beside him on the sofa, but that seemed to suit Balar just fine.
Practically in his lap, her legs draped over one of his, they sat facing each other, hands softly exploring.
He kept his touch light, one paw stroking up and down her back while the other caressed her leg.
But every once in a while, his claws would find their way into her hair, scratching at the back of her head.
Imogen had never understood what it meant to melt before, but with each teasing touch, she came a little closer.
Since their talk over the firewood, they’d been inseparable.
The animals were seen to, dinner was prepared and eaten—all the while, they found little ways to touch each other.
The squeeze of a hand or brush of a wing.
Balar’s tail cheekily wound its way around her waist as they stood side by side kneading bread.
Her gaze never strayed long from him. Although they’d been cohabiting for weeks now, it was as though she needed the reassurance that he was there, that he was real.
It all feels like a dream. Too good to be true.
Her vision had gone rosy with all the happiness coursing through her. The dust mote floating through the air seemed to sparkle in the last of the day’s sunlight. Every creak of the cottage seemed to be the house singing to them. It felt like magic—and it was all because of him.
Imogen was fit to burst with every good feeling she could imagine. And somehow, with every stroke of his paw or tongue, she only felt better.
It was in that haze of happiness and love that she felt safe enough to let go. To experiment. Her thoughts were there, but she focused them on him.
His fur is so soft, but his chest is so hard beneath.
Does he like his mane touched? What about his ears?
Are his paws sensitive like hands?
Little by little, kiss after kiss, Imogen grew bolder. Not just touching his chest over his shirt but delving beneath to feel all that glorious warmth and muscle. She delighted in feeling the quick pace of his heart; knowing that he was excited, pleased by her touch, was encouraging.
Sometimes she worried she’d made a mistake—but that worry lasted less than a moment. Nothing seemed to displease him, and as the evening lengthened and her body softened, she began to learn his tells. He told her with louder purrs and rumbling hums what he especially liked.
Yes, his paws were particularly sensitive, and he liked it when she turned over the one on her leg to tease her fingertips across the pads.
His breathing went erratic when she buried a hand in his mane, finding the arch of his jaw to caress and following it up to his ear.
She was half-tempted to scratch it but instead traced the base.
Imogen felt how his next exhale wobbled and stuttered. When she pulled back from their kiss to catch her own breath, he buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, taking a long pull of her scent. Imogen almost jumped when she felt his textured tongue play at her neck.
“I could drown in your scent, urisá.”
“Really? I feel like I’m floating.” Fates, was that her voice, all breathy and sultry?
Balar rumbled with a laugh. “Good.” After another deep kiss, which left Imogen gasping when he finally pulled his tongue away in a slow, teasing glide, he asked her, “Can I make you feel even better, Imogen? Or is this enough for tonight?”
All her nerves, dulled under the heat of his attentions, coiled into a knotted ball in her stomach.
The easy answer rested on the tip of her tongue.
So much had happened today—she didn’t have to push herself.
Imogen knew he’d be there tomorrow, and the day after that.
They could do a little more each day, work up to each new intimacy.
But…the aching between her legs wouldn’t go away. Why stay awake half the night suffering when she could do something about it?
Her voice wasn’t as brave or confident as she’d hoped, but still she said, “We can try more.”
A slow, devastating smile stretched Balar’s mouth. That flash of fang had her cunt clenching—and gave her ideas.
Balar leaned over her, pushing her back onto the sofa. Hand greedily tracing the curve of her hip and waist, he asked, “What shall I do with you, ul-lu?”
Swallowing down her nerves, Imogen admitted, “Before…I got overwhelmed with it all. So many sensations.”
Balar rumbled with thought, and after a moment, he kissed her cheek and straightened. Imogen didn’t have time to miss his heat or ask where he was going—in the next moment, he was lifting her up and carrying her to her bed.
As he laid her gently at the center, she couldn’t help a nervous giggle.
He threw her a wink before pulling his shirt over his head.
Imogen’s mouth went dry. Fates, he really was a beautiful male.
Thick ropes of muscle weren’t hidden but accentuated by his tawny fur.
His mane cascaded from his head to about his shoulders and down his back, a luscious burst of golden softness.
His neck, arms, and waist were all thick with muscle, his chest two glorious mounds of it with little, flat brown nipples peeking out from the fur.
She wished there was more light to see him by, to truly appreciate his beauty. Maybe that’s what she’d ask for tomorrow.
That thought, the idea of doing something new and different with him every day—and that there would always be another chance, a tomorrow—sent a little thrill down her middle.
Setting his knee on the bed, he angled over her to begin working the button at her waist that held her thick skirts closed. The button popped free, but he didn’t move the skirts away. Not yet.
Instead, he took each of her hands in his and raised them above her head. Settling over her, he purred in her ear, “I’ll just use my mouth for tonight, urisá. We’ll see how you like it and what you’ll want to add tomorrow.”